The Teratology of
Nashville’s 11th Annual
Tattoo and Horror Convention
It was in full view—the idea that the same
audience that loved the weird and wonderful on film would love the same thing
on their bodies.
Nashville was just
the first place to capitalize on the connection.
The Full Moon Tattoo
and Horror Convention is the brain child of Ben Dixon, local tattooist, and
Gunnar Hansen, the original Leatherface, and it has been steadily growing for
the past decade. This year, it was held in the heart of Nashville at the downtown Convention Center.
It was not hard to
locate the building: Simply follow the black-clad metalheads standing next to
the pre-teens dressed as fairies.
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| "People are strange when you're a stranger. Or when you're at a tattoo and horror convention" |
The random
assortment of costumes was jarring: I hadn’t expected to open the door of the
Convention Center and see pre-teens carrying seven-foot tall swords. Furries.
Putty Patrol henchmen from the Power Rangers who didn’t have the common sense
to wear underwear with skin-tight body suits. A nearby poster read: MTAC Omega
2012 (Middle Tennessee Amine Convention).
Organizers had
booked both events as neighbors and it was strange day in the neighborhood. A
300-pound man with full sleeve tattoos would turn sideways to let a giant,
furry, blue ball with googly eyes pass him. A group of acne-ridden teenagers
with Japanese headbands would walk around a group of acne-ridden teenagers with
Halloween H20 shirts. Two separate
freak shows were in town.
 |
| "Nothing says horror and tattoos like anime." |
With any sub-culture
event, there is an aura of strangeness surrounding the gathering place—the
faithful know they are among friends. Vendors, filmmakers, tattooists,
celebrities, artists and promoters for other conventions all packed into the
hall.
Passionate people
are what make a convention. These are a few of them:
Joseph:
 | |
| "No more crabs for me ever, thank you." |
There was much noise and excitement in the main hall, but
Joseph was a man apart. He sat patiently, surrounded by dozens of clay
figurines, and was so serene that I asked if he didn't mind my browsing. He
nodded slowly and pulled at a gray beard as I looked closer: Small creatures
several inches high were sculpted out of nightmare. Claws, teeth, bloodshot
eyes all erupting on the back of some alien body—just the thing for Mother’s
Day, I thought. I asked his influences: "Fifties' B-movies," he said,
"and the Voyages of Sinbad."
Sinbad never fought one of these.
Interested? Terrified? Compelled? Contact him at ultrastudios@aol.com
Lee and Jennifer-
 | |
| "A place for people who love finding out what goes bump in the night" |
With his shaved head, bristling beard and solid frame, Lee
Kirkland looks more whaler than ghost hunter. What drew me to his booth was the
animation and friendliness that both he and his wife, Jennifer, radiated out on
the floor as they promoted a crossover horror convention of their own.
Scarefest, currently in its 5th year, is being held on Sept 28-30th
this year in Lexington,
Kentucky.
There’s two things about Lee and Jennifer that tell me this
will be a great event: The first is the admiration the couple has for its fans
(last year’s convention shirts featured a group of costumed convention goers in
appreciation for their attendance), and the second is the joy the couple show
when they talk about their work; these people love what they do.
Tired of having to go to separate conventions for your
horror and paranormal interests? Try http://scarefestcon.com
Mr. Fleam
 |
| "Also available for weddings." |
I appreciate good character design, so when I saw this dapper
fellow, I had to talk to him. His voice is surprising—upper class British. I
would have thought guttural Cockney after it had been rolled in asphalt and
soaked in sea-water. Meet Mr. Fleam, founder of the International Brotherhood
of Kooks, whose job description is freaking people out. He’s the main character
in an upcoming series of shorts called "Fleam & Boil’s House for
Wayward Kooks," which is centered around a boarding house run by a group
of shadowy figures: not quite ghosts, not quite witches—but definitely not
human. Mr. Fleam described the project as a variety show splashed with black
humor. With slick promotional materials and a busker’s flair, he certainly
looks the part. I’ll be checking back when the first short is available; I’m
interested to see if the substance is as good as the style.
Want to see more of Mr. Fleam big pimpin’? Check him out
here: http://www.facebook.com/Fleam.Fans
Cary
 |
| "A wise woman once said 'That's hot.' " |
The tattoo side of the hall is filled with the sound of
angry bees: needle guns at work. What drew me to Cary’s booth was the row of tattooed pigs'
feet floating in alcohol. "Yeah, people can’t seem to get enough of
those," he said sheepishly. On the pigs' flesh were the thick lines and
bold colors that define the work of Cary Aldridge, a tattooist all the way from
Columbus, Ohio.
He’s unassuming and funny, qualities that show through in his tattoos (a full
length arm piece from his book shows a zombified old school pin-up model
sitting atop a tombstone; the banner above it reads “Beauty and Brains”). He’s a good example of the
dozens of tattooists seen at the convention: heavily inked craftsmen with the
patience to work an 11-hour day.
Time flows off them as they focus on an art
form that demands perfection. If you have any tattoo ambitions, go to an
expo—your artist is there.
Like this piece from Cary?
He has others here: http://www.caryink.com/mainpage/caryinkframeset.1.html
Richie
 |
| "Practice makes perfect." |
In this time of political strife, zombies are the great equalizer:
The 99% and the 1% all look the same shambling mindlessly down the street of a
devastated metropolis. As Dr. Logan says in Day
of the Dead: "They are us." When I found out there was a 5K event
that enacted the hell of a zombie-apocalypse on the streets of the Music City,
I was a little excited. When I found out that the promoters of the event were
at the convention, I was somewhere between the level of a puppy with a new toy
and a child on Christmas morning.
Richie Morrison is the ad director for the Nashville Zombie
Buffet 5K, a road race in downtown Nashville
in late October that pits a group of Karo Syrup covered "zombies"
against fleet-footed "survivors" wearing football flags. The rules
are simple: Survivors try to end the race with the flags and the zombies try to
stop them. Lose your flags and you see how the other side lives (or un-lives).
Last year's successful inaugural event had attendance in the thousands. This
year, the promoters want to go bigger—race volunteers in military attire,
smoking cars on the side of the road, the works. A completely outdoor haunted house. To top
it off, a portion of the race proceeds go to the Nashville Rescue Mission, an
organization dedicated to helping the homeless and underfed.
This race is a good thing. It gets people outside and
laughing, it’s good for local business, it’s good for health and it’s good for
the community.
It’s events like this
that make me proud of Nashville.
Want to run for your life or chase down others running for
theirs? Find out more at http://www.zombiebuffet5k.com/Nashville_TN.html
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